


on discipline

by ruche



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), dimitri whomst is a prefect actually, felix whomst is a delinquent actually??? go back to class bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:13:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23523616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruche/pseuds/ruche
Summary: Dimitri looks down at the truancy records. Not for terribly long, because he feels a headache coming on.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cute lil multi-chapter incoming. felix skips class, dimitri is a glorified hall monitor and he's doing his best

Dimitri looks down at the truancy records. Not for terribly long, because he feels a headache coming on.

To be clear: Dimitri does not expect any of the Blue Lions to have perfect attendance. He aims for it himself, to model good behavior, and to fill his days with productivity and structure. He understands very well that the other students may have other concerns, preferences, or priorities. Annette and Mercedes simply _forget_ about classes from time to time. Sylvain’s absences are more… intentional, but nothing so extreme. It’s to be expected. Even good-natured, hard-working Ashe skips once in a while, too, for reasons Dimitri doesn’t see fit to ask after. 

That leaves Dimitri, Dedue, and Ingrid with nearly spotless attendance records, and… Felix at the very bottom.

It is not as though Dimitri hasn’t noticed. Felix scarcely ever comes to reason class, philosophy class, general tactics, scripture-- anything that doesn’t hold his interest. He is also the only one who will simply _leave_ a class in the middle. Multiple times now their esteemed lecturers have sputtered indignantly after Felix’s retreating back, with Dimitri turned around in his chair between them, silent, powerless, watching him go, too.

His blatant disdain for authority figures is… almost impressive. But at such moments Dimitri can feel, almost like a physical weight, the expectation that falls to him: He’s the Blue Lions House Leader. There are no excuses he can make for Felix, Felix is being _disruptive_ , and his accrual of demerits is reaching critical mass. Though Dimitri enthusiastically encourages a level-playing field of status here at Garreg Mach, it remains his job to warn Felix of the consequences of his improper conduct, and firmly urge him to improve his behavior. 

He has been putting this particular task off for weeks. Enough that Dedue has taken notice, and offered to have a word with Felix in his stead. _Dedue_. A _word_. With _Felix_. Taciturn Dedue, often content going all day without conversation, made to speak up on Dimitri’s part because he couldn’t find the mettle to admonish _one_ classmate? Unacceptable is what that is. 

And so he assured Dedue, and all displeased faculty, that he would certainly speak to Felix about it. _A fine opportunity to practice a certain approach,_ their authority professor had clucked approvingly. _A king must be firm with his subordinates._

Inside the Blue Lions classroom, late afternoon light spilling pink over the empty tables, Dimitri holds his head in his hands. Looks up at the second table to the right, the far end of which is usually Felix’s seat. When he does come to class. 

Dimitri keeps a wide berth of distance from Felix these days, for reasons he has not really examined outside of Felix’s clear preference that he “keep [his] bloody snout away from me”, which is just as well. So, conclusively stacking his papers, he considers what he knows about Felix. If there’s anything of note to make the upcoming discussion more… productive.

In a way, it’s familiar that he is like this. As a young child, he acted as though staying put and _listening_ were some of life’s greatest torments. He wanted to be outside and honing his skills as much as possible. Dimitri could smile at the memory. He supposes it’s just surprising that Felix has fallen back on juvenile bad habits _now_ , of all times.

Now that he thinks about it-- back then, this very task was easy. An exchange of glances, a guiding hand, a simple, _Felix, do you want to come to my history lesson with me? We can race after._ And the younger Fraldarius brother would settle down. Lord Rodrigue and Glenn called him a miracle worker, laughing heartily, though Dimitri did not understand it then.

Of course, none of that applies now. 

***

The thing is: Felix is not lazy. He appears for each one of his chores and completes them dutifully. Even when Dimitri is there. Even the ones assigned as punishment by demerit-- if he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

And: Felix does not skip his classes for lack of ability. If he applied himself-- Dimitri watches him bowl over a knight twice his size-- if he _applied himself_ , as he does to swordplay, he could do most anything. 

Dimitri does not pick up a weapon at the training ground, because as soon as he does, he probably will not put it down.

Instead he-- watches. It’s not strange. Felix is a sight to behold. 

No one would accuse him of wasting his time here, least of all Dimitri, but he is honorbound to ensure the education of his housemates. 

As far as he can tell, Felix is not at Garreg Mach for an education-- or at least, he’s here for a very specific curriculum. Regardless, he doesn’t have to skip often enough that half of the faculty is offended.

It is on their behalf that Dimitri will go talk to Felix. It is just talking. That is what Dimitri repeats in his mind, over and over, as Felix plants himself at the edge of the yard for a breather. 

“ _Boar prince_ ,” Felix drawls upon his approach. “You’re not usually here at this time.”

Dimitri is startled by this-- perhaps Felix works a schedule around avoiding him? He... supposes that is fair, and very good of Felix to waste no efforts in his goals, highly unnecessary though they may be. He looks down at the dirt for a moment, thrown off. 

“Yes, well.” Dimitri clears his throat. Looks up, hoping that his smile is acceptable. “I thought I’d get some air. It’s a fine day out.”

Felix’s expression indicates that making small talk with him is offensive, disgusting, perhaps the worst thing to happen all day. Dimitri may not be physically recoiling, but something inside of him is. Hot and guilty, even though he does not quite understand why he should be.

“Hn,” says Felix, tossing his head. He is short of breath, still, from his training. “Enjoy your air, then.” 

He walks away. 

As if his body remembers his objective while his mind is left reeling, Dimitri follows. It is just talking. Just talking.

“What?” Felix stops not a few steps later. “I find your company repulsive.”

“Felix,” he tries. Forces it out. Rolls his shoulders and puts his back into it, though the words feel like they grate the air between them. “Actually, I’d like to speak with you. If I could have just a moment--”

“No. Follow me and I’ll slice you in half.”

Felix continues walking away. _Where is he going_ does not even occur to Dimitri, so emotionally wilted is he from this interaction. Felix’s retreating back is firm and undeniable, as always, and Dimitri figures he knows what he’s doing. Somehow.

 _No._ Very to the point. Dimitri rubs the back of his neck. 

Well, that’s that. 

***

_Thud._

“It’s just unacceptable,” Ingrid says, nearly a shout fit for the battlefield. The other occupants of the library, Dimitri included, look at her inquisitively, and-- no less fierce, she sits down across from him and lowers her voice. “I don’t know where he gets off behaving in such a way. Not only to you, but to our teachers.”

“I just need to have a word with him,” Dimitri says weakly. Ingrid’s expression turns a sorry, pitying thing. She’d witnessed Dimitri’s massive abortive failure to speak with Felix yesterday, and came wheeling up to him about it as soon as she spotted him outside the library. Her concern is not as reassuring as he would like it to be. Perhaps because it is mostly frustration with Felix, which is a feeling that Dimitri tries to avoid if possible.

“I’ve been trying that for some time now,” she admits, tapping her finger on the book in front of her. “With varying rates of success. But _why_ would he ever listen to _me_?”

“Old friend, we are very much in the same boat.” He flips a page, though the text is not quite sinking in like it should. He will have to revisit his notes, at… some point. 

In his mind’s eye, he keeps returning to Felix, flushed and sweaty and gazing straight through him. Dimitri has seen true hatred directed at him. Felix’s expression is harder to forget.

When he looks up, Ingrid is giving him a very peculiar stare. Hard in the eyes and soft at the mouth. He straightens his posture, conscientious. “Yes?”

“I think he’ll listen to you,” she says, honest as only Ingrid can be. “You shouldn’t let his… language steer you away. Goddess knows I make that mistake too many times.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Dimitri replies gently. Genuinely, he hopes. “But I would rather not bother him.”

“Your Highness, _he deserves it_. You’re far too kind.”

Dimitri smiles at her. But Felix _doesn’t_ deserve it. He doesn’t. “I will do my best to get through to him,” he says, “so please don’t trouble yourself any further, Ingrid. I’d like to do the Blue Lions proud as a House Leader, even in this small way.”

He’s relieved when Ingrid smiles back, winsome and approving. “Of course. But I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she grins, balling a fist with cheery resolve, “it’s been weeks of honest effort, so all of us are determined to see this through.”

“Ah. Then, I’ll have to--” Dimitri pauses. “All of us?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i say a cute multichapter? things get worse before they get better  
> also i gotta make up professors to be mad at felix (wags hand) you know how it is

Days pass.

Felix’s attendance record remains spotty, though perhaps that is fair. Dimitri did not actually inform him of anything, let alone try persuasive tactics. If he cannot act as a prefect, it is admittedly difficult to imagine he could act as a king.

On the other hand: he would not have this problem with literally anyone else.

Sometimes his heart fails him at the sight of Felix. He cannot say if it is built-up sentiment for a time long passed, or simply a fight-or-flight response to the hostility that’s sure to come. But it recurs and recurs in his head. Felix has changed, Felix has grown up. Felix is an impressive young man and wants nothing to do with him.

As if he could forget this for a second.

An opportunity arises when he spots Felix ducking into his room at the end of the hall. It is the middle of the day. He has a book under his arm-- Dimitri cannot make it out-- figures he would want to do his studying in the privacy of his own room. Again Dimitri does not want to bother him, though his steps hasten across the dormitory floor.

He knocks on Felix’s door. Waits, in silence, hoping Felix will open it if he doesn’t know who’s visiting. Underhanded, a little, and ultimately useless.

He knocks again. “Felix?” he calls politely. “It’s Dimitri.”

“I know.” The words are sharp and distant, as if hurled at the door from the other side. “Any more knocking and you’ll surely break the door down, beast.”

“Oh-- right you are. At least you’re not going to pretend you aren’t there,” Dimitri laughs, grateful for even a muffled echo of Felix’s voice. Feeling quite silly, he puts his mouth near the door. “I do need to speak with you. I understand that you find me reprehensible, but… truly, consider me here only as an extension of the academy.”

“... State your business, boar.”

“Um. You are aware that you’ve been skipping class… excessively, right?” Dimitri asks, bracing a hand on the polished wood. “Do you know how many demerits you have?”

There’s an aggrieved sigh so loud he can even hear it through the thick door. “Does that nonsense actually carry any weight?”

Judging by sound, he hasn’t moved from his spot. At his desk, maybe, or on his bed? Dimitri tries to imagine it. He’s never seen the inside of Felix’s room at Garreg Mach. His mind churns with the realization, even as he tries to keep an ear open.

“So I’ll have to shovel horse manure a few extra times. It makes no difference to me.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Dimitri agrees dryly. “So you are aware. I just-- do we really have to have this conversation through the door?”

Silence. As much a clear _no_ as anything.

Felix really is an odd boy.

“Very well. Your conduct is disruptive, and bothers the professors,” Dimitri proceeds, shuffling his feet in place. He has never stared at a door like this before. “They complain often about your disrespectful antics between themselves.”

He hears the floorboards creak. Footsteps approaching. And Felix’s answer comes much more audibly now. Curt. Unquestionable. “Let them. Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Teaching is their job. You make it difficult for them. They all know you’re smart, Felix. Your truancy is a waste of your ability _and_ your privilege,” Dimitri crosses his arms. “Lord Rodrigue has enrolled you here for a reason, no doubt hoping you’ll get a well-rounded education--”

He hears the groan clear as day this time. Almost like it reverberates through the door. If they’re both leaning on it, then this is the closest they’ve been since--

“You don’t know anything about my father,” Felix spits.

Dimitri furrows his eyebrows. “I think that’s unfair--”

“Anything about my father _and I_ , then. Do excuse me for not doing my duty, Your Whiny-ness-”

“Oh, come now, Felix, name-calling?”

“-- but I do prefer not to waste my time. So am I at risk of expulsion, boar?”

“Well, no-- of course not--”

He hears Felix scrape against the door. Straightening up, conclusively. “Then this discussion is over. Shove off, beast. Quite disgusting to be chided by an animal.”

At a loss for words, Dimitri knocks his forehead against Felix’s unyielding door. Acutely he feels that this may be the closest he’ll ever get to Felix again. He stands there longer than he should.

***

“And how _is_ the young Lord Fraldarius,” Seteth asks him as they stroll across campus. “I couldn’t help but notice he did not show for Scripture today, either.”

Dimitri fights the urge to hang his head. His grip tightens on the notebook in his hand, voluntary as a sneeze, and he has to calm the ache in his chest. “I did have a word with him,” Dimitri offers. “But he is quite stubborn.”

“Yes, a trait I hear many men from Faerghus share,” Seteth remarks. And then: “Oh-- certainly not always a bad one, Your Highness.”

“Dimitri is fine,” the prince says, trying to smooth out the crinkled edges of this month’s battle plan. Difficult, with gloves. “Yes. I suppose simple words don’t often work on us. Though he did ask if he was being expelled… There is no such punishment in store, is there?”

“Not for truancy, of all things.” Seteth frowns. “Though… certain privileges can be taken away, certainly.”

“Such as?”

“Leaving Garreg Mach at all.”

Oh. If there’s one thing Felix resents more than Dimitri, it’s being trapped. Though, perhaps that is why he resents Dimitri so much, too.

***

“He always comes to my classes,” Professor Byleth says, tilting their head. “Or at least, from what I remember, he does.”

“You are a fantastic instructor,” Dimitri tells them, taking a sip of tea-- jolting, suddenly, as he amends, “Not to say that the other faculty members aren’t, of course! Felix just has particular tastes. But Seteth and Manuela don’t much care for that excuse.”

Byleth is silent for a long moment. “I did not realize Felix stressed you out like this,” they say.

“He doesn’t,” Dimitri assures them. But looking at Byleth’s face, he’s compelled to tell the truth. “Not exactly. Well-- sometimes he gives me a headache, but those occur often enough regardless. Felix is a very good person at heart.”

Byleth hums into their teacup. It is rude of them, and Dimitri is very fond. “Perhaps I can bribe him with a spar.”

Dimitri laughs. “That actually sounds like it would work,” he huffs, imagining it. Felix would surely be on the verge of whining if Professor Byleth put a disciplinary halt on their weekly spars. “He seems to very much enjoy your matches. Enough to smile, even.”

“Do you watch them?” Byleth asks.

“They’re spectacular,” Dimitri enthuses, and then, “From time to time, when I can. I learn a lot from it. I’ve never had such talent for swordplay as you and Felix.”

“Hm.”

“Well, if you’d like to help me, I’d very much appreciate it, of course,” Dimitri says, settling back in his seat. “Then, you be the good knight and I’ll be the executioner.”

Byleth tilts their head. “That’s a dark turn of phrase.”

“Oh, my apologies. It’s a saying in Faerghus, meaning I will carry out the unsavory part of a collaborative effort. I don’t mind, truly.”

“That doesn’t seem like you.”

That’s confusing. Too ambiguous for Dimitri to begin to grasp.

“Doesn’t it?” he asks, too ashamed to allow the formulation of an answer. He hurries along. “Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but Felix is often displeased just by being in my presence. I might as well be the bearer of bad news, as well.”

“You don’t like it,” says the professor, a tad awkward. Dimitri blinks. Looks off to the side, where many students are enjoying the fine weather. It’s times like this that he truly can’t reconcile himself with the day-to-day life he’s been blessed or tasked with. The sunlight is immaculately enjoyable, and a shiver runs up his spine.

“It can’t be helped,” he chirps, though the words rather seem to drag out of him. "He may be melodramatic about it, but he has a point."

“Does he?” Byleth asks, and their mouth disappears once more behind a teacup. Not that it would have told Dimitri much anyway, though he always tends to look.

***

All things considered, Professor Byleth probably put them both on today’s classroom cleaning duty on purpose. Not that they mentioned a thing to Dimitri. Now that's strategy.

It is laughable how clumsy Dimitri is with a broom. Felix himself has pointed this out a few times, even, since their arrival at the academy. And what could Dimitri do but smile at that? He thinks he has gotten better at the business of sweeping, by now, though he embarrassingly required Dedue’s instruction.

“Felix,” he says, as the other man dusts at the windows.

Felix actually snaps his fingers at him. “Focus, boar.”

“I’m capable of multitasking,” Dimitri says shortly, coming to a standstill. “I just-- do you recall what we talked about a few days ago?”

“Ugh. I don’t easily forget.” Felix doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Doesn’t turn to face Dimitri, which is just as well. Sometimes his disregard for good manners is liberating. Dimitri does not want to examine why lack of civility is any comfort, but-- here they are.

Dimitri hums and continues sweeping around Annette and Mercedes’ usual seats, then. Crumbs aplenty. It lifts his spirits a little, to know _someone_ in their house is enjoying class. “I'm... concerned. Seteth mentioned to me that enough disciplinary action can result in-- well, more disciplinary action--”

A snort. “Am I to be flogged in the yard?”

 _“Felix,_ ” Dimitri exhales. Exasperation just toeing the line at good humor.

“What?” he snaps, shifting around where he sits on the ladder. Dust like little particles of light fall around the dark crown of his head. “Public whipping went out of fashion only recently, Your Beastliness.”

“I’m surprised you’d know that, considering how often you skip history class--”

“Well, it was your father who banned it,” Felix says. And perhaps Dimitri is meant to know what that means, but his body goes slack, save for the hot little ball in his throat. Yet another thing he’d never spoken to his father about.

“--so naturally, my own old man, without fail--”

Felix stops there. Turns his head around to look at Dimitri, whose mouth is parted, halfway through a deep breath. Vibrant hues of late afternoon reveal Felix’s expression very clearly, the whole of it like a pinched nerve. Dimitri feels the dull pain in his chest go sharp, even though Felix’s half-snarls and furrows of displeasure might as well be Almyran script to him now.

“Forget it. Anyway,” Felix says hastily, still peering at him, “ _anyway, boar,_ what did the meddlesome old man say? Seteth has had it out for me for some time.”

Dimitri feels unsteady on his feet. “Oh?”

“With boring advice, mostly.”

“I cannot _begin_ to imagine what you would need advice in, Felix.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Felix snarls, much too fast. Something about it makes Dimitri’s defenses crash and burn, delightfully. Felix _harrumphs_ and gestures at him. “Go on and explain, boar, I’m giving you an ear, aren’t I?”

Dimitri cannot fathom why his chest feels pleasantly warm where there was an empty smoldering before. That is not what he’s being asked, but contentment has its hold on him and he almost doesn’t want to have this talk anymore.

If he could have just enjoyed Felix’s steady presence, at the cost of keeping his mouth shut, he would have. But that-- that is just an indulgent thought.

Felix climbs down from the ladder, a quick two-step and a jump. He continues to look at Dimitri, and it’s approximate pleasant company. They _are_ childhood friends.

Dimitri searches his mind for a moment, the words almost cloying to his mouth. “Well… Well, I’d like you to consider heeding my concerns and coming to class a bit more often. Seteth said certain privileges could be lost, you see. Like free reign of the campus, say, or school outings when--”

“ _Outings_ ,” Felix repeats, his eyes blown wide. As if any of this surprises him anymore. Dimitri is about to give a stiff, stammering affirmative, but Felix carries on, “You do mean when we cut down bandits and rebels? Of course that would be akin to a pleasant outing for you. Gutting men and taking lives, like an _afternoon stroll_ to the boar.”

It’s not… hurtful… exactly. Confusing, in a way that hurts. He takes care not to snap the broom handle.

“Well. That might be an interesting test of my value as a soldier, at least.” Felix comes away from the window, lifting a hand with rhetorical flourish. He does not seem bothered, except for the tension that clings whenever he says it, _boar_. “What _does_ the Church of Seiros value more? My prowess with a blade or my ability to sit through a tedious lecture?”

A worthy question. If it were up to Dimitri, Felix would never step foot on the battlefield again.

Ah, but Felix would hate that, wouldn’t he? Would complain about his rusting sword, his lack of purpose. Dimitri stumbles upon a mystery. That’s right; they’re strangers, too. Felix circambulates and drags the ladder to the bookshelf, first looking it over in disinterest. Dimitri’s eyes trace the slope of his back, how his uniform vest fits just around his waist--

“Felix,” he begins, “can you explain something to me?”

Felix turns to look at him again. Fire in the eye, but nothing hateful. “I doubt I’ll have any luck explaining to a boar.”

Dimitri sighs. Leans the broom against the cobbled walls and flexes his hands, armored, always armored, even for chores. “You say you cannot abide what you saw of me at the Western Rebellion some years ago,” he says. He remembers. Not as well as Felix, perhaps, but well enough that the memory sours and drains. “It’s well within your rights.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Felix grouses, pausing his work only a moment. Dimitri rounds to the side of him, feeling greedy to seek out his expression, but-- if he’ll put them through this, he’ll at least do it thoroughly. Dimitri takes a steadying breath. It might as well be full of dust for all the good it does. He touches Felix’s upper arm, thrilled when amber eyes only flick to the side.

Dimitri removes his hand before Felix can do the honors. “But.. forgive me, I’ve… I’ve also seen you cut down men without blinking an eye. And you relish in testing your skill against opponents-- not just in matches, but in battles of life or death, am I wrong?”

Felix looks up, intense. “I don’t relish their suffering.”

Dimitri does not remember ever making eye contact with Felix so much since coming to the academy. It’s as unnerving as it is wonderful. Looking at the whole of him, Dimitri is compelled to tell the truth.

He pauses, however, because he is not sure.

“Neither do I,” he manages. Cannot look another living human in the face as he says it, however, and--

“Don’t lie to my face.” It’s not a shout. It’s not even a growl. It’s coolly disdainful and broiling underneath, tight with something Dimitri doesn’t dare to touch. He feels a thousand years old, undefinable, fragile, and breathless.

Felix takes a step back, though he’s never quite so lenient with his mouth. “Tearing people limb from limb, I’d never seen you smile so big. It was revolting. No sane man could even _imagine_.”

The memory trails across his mind, bigger and brighter this time. The resplendent flashes of red to the pounding of his heart. He stops himself. He tries to remember where Felix was. He can’t. Not during the battle, or after.

“It weighs heavily on me. It always does,” Dimitri says, holding his elbows. Numb. And before Felix can wound him again, “It can’t be helped if you don’t believe me. Perhaps it’s for the best.”

He can almost hear Felix grinding his teeth. Sees it in the set of his jaw, and for a moment, he has trouble remembering that either of them are good people at all.

Only for a moment. It’s Felix, after all. He’s neither right nor wrong, and how are either of them to know?

“No need to rehash this argument,” Dimitri continues quietly. He’s frowning, in a manner that stings. “I’m very sorry, if I’ve upset you.”

“It doesn’t matter. You disgust me is what you do,” Felix says ruefully. Another step back. “I know everything you are. You won’t fool me, you savage beast. Say whatever you want.”

He can’t think of a single thing.

So Dimitri only watches him. With a heaviness to his gait, he takes the broom off the wall. Will Felix’s disgust or the need to finish their chores win out? Felix is no longer looking at him, tense at the shoulders where he raises an arm to dust the shelves. At least he keeps this stalemate a comfortable place to return to. Always jabbing and wounding, never going for the kill.

The stretch of silence is fine, Dimitri thinks. No more suffocating than the sauna. He lets the sight of Felix, cleaning with his head down, comfort and confound him as it ever does.

***

Felix goes to tactics lecture three times in a row next week. Professor Byleth and Ingrid’s work, likely.

It is good. Dimitri is relieved.

But he looks at Felix and feels as though he is unraveling like a spindle.

Tea time with their class advisor is always like a fresh breath of air. It feels undeserved, but very much appreciated. Byleth always has insightful comments to make on everyone’s growth, and Dimitri values the attentiveness. Mostly. Sometimes they pin him with a look that reminds him of Felix’s, though their faces could not be any more different-- but for the flicker of expectation that he never has any idea how to answer.

When Byleth asks if he’s well, he replies posthaste. Four times out of five, it’s polite, cheerful. That takes no effort at all. He’s as aware of their burdens as they seem to be of his, and he does not wish to impose. Sometimes he must mention that he has not been sleeping, or that his headaches have returned-- just so the professor knows he is not operating at his best, though he’d like to, though it’s never an excuse.

Today, he says, “Professor, may I confide in you?”

He could choke on it. But Byleth is always kind. Earlier he had clumsily dodged their request for a status update on the matter with Felix, because that was-- too personal. Somehow. A simple disciplinary task, too personal.

Official business with a Fraldarius is always that way, though. Lord Rodrigue’s visits to the capital were that of family, not duke, not subordinate. And Felix moreso. Dimitri’s mouth twists.

“Last time we spoke,” he says, “you said… it seems that Felix… makes me stressed. And I truly thought that wasn’t the case. He’s very stubborn, but I’ve always found that endearing, I think.”

He thinks. It is hard to remember _always_ , in truth. Felix wants him to, to pick his story and stick to it, but absolutely nothing comes to Dimitri with such ease.

Byleth’s blank expression is encouraging. Even as they hum, and tilt their head, and say, “I do wonder what it was that made him distrust you. When I first started teaching here, he said he knows you very well. But to be... wary.”

“None of us are what we seem,” Dimitri replies graciously, though he wonders at that-- Felix knows him? Felix is… wary? By both of their estimations, _repulsed_ seems to be the right word. Though, even that is not quite it.

“What did you do to him?” Byleth asks. Dimitri nearly barks out a laugh at their bluntness. He also feels like the breath was knocked clear out of him.

“I’m not certain I did anything to him,” he says carefully, after a strained pause. “It was-- me. That-- that is the problem, you see. We can’t… talk. But when we do, it always goes back to--” His ears grow hot. “Me. What I am, or what I’m not, when I don’t really know, myself.”

He feels foolish now. He’s not sure how to explain it. Felix’s narrowed eyes are like an enchanted mirror. Where he should be, but is missing. He can ignore it every other time, how little he resembles himself, how little he understands himself. How he must have productivity, how he must have structure.

Byleth’s eyes also seek an answer.

“My apologies,” Dimitri says, inclining his head. “I’m losing sleep, again. I must be speaking nonsense--”

“No,” Byleth says. “I understand.”

For a few moments, they simply hold their tea in both hands. From the adjoining courtyard floats the distant, lively chatter of other students.

“It is hard to understand myself, sometimes,” Byleth says finally, and a hint of a smile stirs at their mouth. “But through interacting with all of you, I begin to see it. I’m grateful.”

“We’re grateful,” Dimitri replies hurriedly, stiffening up in his seat. “ _I’m_ grateful. For your indulging me.”

“Felix is worried about you,” Byleth says. Dimitri hesitates.

“He is worried about what I’m capable of,” he corrects Byleth, softly. “I don’t think anyone in the world has seen me break things as much as he has.”

And he used to laugh about it, a sound high and sweet as bells. When it was teacups, spoons, swords, and toys, all the way up until it was a human body quartered by his hands. He does not remember how many people he killed at the Western Rebellion. He should, damn him.

“We used to be very fond of each other,” he says. It scrapes his throat. “But as he takes care to remind me-- I am not the same person that I was.”

Byleth’s mouth draws into an unflappable line. Their eyes, big and owlish, _expect_. “Isn’t that up to you?”

Dimitri is silent. He is not sure how to reply. The prospect seems both damnably naive and wise beyond their years, as Byleth often seems. Dimitri feels an inadequate whelp, but he does not even have that luxury. “Who can go back to the carefree state of being a child?” he asks at length, fingers flexing in his lap. “I do not remember how I was. I have tried.”

Byleth frowns. Brutal. “There are plenty of people who can tell you.”

Dimitri swallows. “I-- I do not think...”

“ _Professor!_ ” a male voice sing-songs, cutting him off. “And Your Highness--”

Sylvain sidles and stops beside their tea table, looking down at them with as much good humor as ever. A pink-red splotch, much in the shape of a hand, mars his cheek. Dimitri stares.

“I presume you’re on your way back from a date?” he asks.

“Sharp instincts, Your Highness,” Sylvain says. Dimitri decides not to tell him that the slap mark is visible.

“I can’t get any of you to do anything,” Dimitri mourns, covering his eyes with one hand. Dedue’s fussing and self-effacement, Ashe’s needless deference, Sylvain’s womanizing, Felix’s-- Felix.

“Sylvain,” says Byleth, slowly, “how would you describe Dimitri?”

Sylvain scratches his chin. “Hmmm… stubborn.” Unbelievable. “As he said, he can’t get any of us to do anything, but does that ever stop him from trying? No, sir.”

Dimitri half-smiles at that. It’s likely a most clumsy, awkward expression, and he clears his throat. Knocks the remaining _emotion_ out of it, too, for the sake of his sanity. What’s left is a particular wryness; he sighs.“Yes, yes, the lot of us are the most stubborn people in Fodlan. I’m very sorry for recruiting you to our class, Professor.”

“I’m not!” Sylvain chimes. He pats Dimitri’s back. Even through the thick cape of his uniform, it’s more comforting than Dimitri knows how to express.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back in time for afternoon lecture,” he says, gesturing to offer Sylvain one of the cookies on the pastry tray.

He takes one and shrugs. “Yeah, actually, I’m on my way to beg Felix to accompany me there. We made an oath to suffer together, once. I shouldn’t have to be that bored on my own.”

A bit of the comfort dissipates. It is endearing, for pure familiarity, but duly unfortunate that the heir to House Gautier finds Foreign Policy _boring_. Also, “I don’t think that’s how that oath went--”

Sylvain chews on the cookie and looks between them. Swallows, loudly. “Well, if I get him to come, do I get a reward?”

“Yes,” Byleth says.

“Great,” Sylvain says, his winning smile unhindered any by the faded slap mark. “You’re the best, Professor. And, Your Highness, you can leave our problem child to my peerless skills of persuasion.”

“You just said you would beg him,” Dimitri points out.

“Yeah, you should have thought of that.”

Scoffing, Dimitri chooses not to parse that suggestion nor the possibility of its success. It occurs to him that Sylvain is either informed of this issue because Ingrid has told him or because Felix has complained about Dimitri’s-- what did he say, whining? Really. “I’m grateful,” Dimitri says. “Please don’t be late.”

Sylvain’s punctuality is only rarely offset by his skirt-chasing. Felix is another variable, but Sylvain doesn’t seem worried. “You got it. I’ll be seeing you, then-- enjoy your tea party.” He ambles off, towards the training ground, it seems like. Dimitri takes another sip of chamomille.

The atmosphere around their table is still pleasant and light, now. But some of its earlier intensity returns to the professor’s gaze as they lace their fingers. “Would you like to keep trying?”

“To get through to Sylvain?” Dimitri asks, grimacing, then looking off in the direction he went. “I mean, certainly--”

“To talk to Felix,” Byleth clarifies. They follow Dimitri’s gaze, soft. “It seems very nice to have childhood friends.”

“Oh. Yes. A true blessing of the goddess.” He tries to sound agreeable. Byleth’s almost-smile falters; he could flinch at his own insincerity, but-- they really can be so complicated. He tries, but on most days, it is difficult to count himself among them, as if the boy who trained and tumbled and skated and laughed with them is someone else entirely. Edelgard doesn’t remember that boy, either. And Felix thinks he is dead.

“Have you always been stubborn?” Byleth asks.

“I don’t imagine so,” Dimitri tries, unconvincing, again. He lowers his head. “Please, Professor, I am embarrassed that he said that.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Byleth says blankly. “It seems to be just what you’d need. If you want to understand yourself, or to clear the matter up with Felix, then avoiding it is the last thing you should do, isn’t it?”

Byleth starts eating a strawberry tart, so Dimitri tries not to stare as revelation bludgeons him over the head. _Want_ to. Does he _want_ to?

More than smoothing over tension between faculty and an errant student, more than improving Felix’s attendance record, does he want to be able to stand in the same room with him alone without feeling so lost? 

_Of course._

***

Tuesday morning begins bright and early. Byleth presides over the Blue Lions classroom, walking them through some of the battle formations Captain Jeralt had their group of mercenaries perform over the years. It is quite riveting. Even for Felix, leaning forward in his seat. When he wants to pay attention, he’s sharp as a tack.

That sort of melancholy settles in Dimitri’s gut, again. It’s still there an hour later, when Byleth concludes the discussion, and Felix gets up from his seat. Everyone’s eyes watch him. He always moves with such purpose, it’s difficult to imagine he’s simply taking a break to use the latrines.

“Where are you going?” Ingrid is the one to ask. “Professor Richter will be here in a few minutes.”

“I know,” Felix snorts, dismissive bordering on smug. He gathers his belongings with haste.

“Felix,” Byleth says from their place at the chalkboard. “Again?”

“Thank you for the instruction, Professor.” He sounds like he means it. At Dimitri’s side, Dedue lets out a quiet hum of disapproval. Seconded, Dimitri thinks.

“Come now, Felix,” Mercedes says, and, “Felix, you can handle two hours of political theory,” Annette pipes up. She scowls at him. It’s not intimidating, but should be compelling all the same.

“What a bore. There’s somewhere I’d rather be,” he replies diffidently.

And then Felix turns and hauls out the door.

“He’s ridiculous,” Sylvain says, though he’s very much ready to laugh about it. Dimitri can understand that, too, strangely enough. “Professor Richter stopped believing he was too sick for class, like, two months ago.” Sylvain’s lie, not Felix’s. As demonstrated by his exit, he didn’t stoop to-- or have the decency to-- make up excuses to ease his way through his bad choices.

Felix is a very good person at heart.

“I’ll go after him,” Dimitri says without thinking. As if to throw himself headfirst, without quarter. Now he can’t go back, so he, too, gathers his belongings and stands up.

“I’ll take notes for you, then, Your Highness,” Dedue offers. Dimitri smiles at him.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” he says. “I’ll be back soon. Please give the professor my apologies for any tardiness.”

He is not back soon.

Just out of the classroom, he spots Felix’s back at the edge of the courtyard, but not the one he would expect. His sword is latched at his hip, but he’s not going to the training yard. Dimitri jogs to catch up-- then, for some reason, stops.

Cowardice, putting off the confrontation for something he vaguely dubs reconnaissance before he decides that’s too foolish a lie. It is just good to see Felix when he is not burdened with having to glare at Dimitri. He’s thought so before.

He may be imagining it, but Felix shares a small smile with the gatekeeper, even. The older man waves him off, and Felix starts down the stairs to the marketplace, out of the monastery entirely. Dimitri aims to be discreet, slipping past the guard with an incline of the head, but of course he gets a very noisily respectful, “ _Good day to you, Your Highness!_ ”

Felix hasn’t even reached the bottom of the stairs when he wheels around. And suddenly they are staring at each other again. Like they are the only two people within the crowd bustling around them. Dimitri’s mouth fails him spectacularly. Felix’s seems to, as well.

“Are you following me?” Felix demands.

“No,” Dimitri says, gladly not sounding too harried, but then fumbles, “Well, yes. Yes.”

“Then you’re skipping Statecraft too,” Felix calls to him. Ah. Dimitri realizes that does seem to be the case-- and yet he cannot bring himself to care for the spot on his record.

“I don’t have any special privileges, so I suppose I am,” Dimitri calls back.

Felix stills. Very pensively, in fact. Dimitri cannot identify the expression that crosses his face, especially not at this non-negligible distance and in this noise, but it’s not disdain or disgust or anger. His mouth draws into a thin line, neutral, really.

Then someone bumps into him while scurrying up the stairs. Dimitri sees him mouth _watch it_ , or at least the beginnings of it, before he sees it’s a small child. The grouchy look remains, however, as the little girl stumbles and hurries around him.

And Dimitri laughs. Just a little bit. He takes the moment to trot down the stairs, coming to stop in front of Felix. “I confess I wanted to see what you do when you’re not with us."

Such genuine surprise marks Felix’s face, Dimitri begins to wonder what he said wrong. Felix recovers quickly, with that familiar deadpan glare of his. “This,” he grinds out. “Now go, boar.”

“Errands?” Dimitri prompts.

“Something like that.”

“Then perhaps I should come along?”

“ _Personal_ errands.”

“I--” Dimitri stands up straight, as if he has just remembered the function of his spine. “I have just as much right to go where you go, anyway, Felix. You’re heading to town? Perhaps I want to, as well. At any rate, I’m not here to lecture or try to drag you back, I’ve decided.”

Felix seems as though he wants to be angry, but it’s sparking like a wet match. He does not look defeated, exactly, as he looks at Dimitri-- really looks at him. Dimitri was right, he can see himself in those eyes, and Sylvain was right, he _is_ stubborn, and the professor was right, it’s not a bad thing. Felix does not look as though it is a bad thing.

Though perhaps that is just surprise tamping down on the sentiment.

“You do hate wasting time,” Dimitri adds. He puts his very best effort into smiling non-clumsily for Felix, though it is not hard. The sunlight, the people, Felix’s comfortable stalemate and the possible crack in it-- it is nice. The lawlessness of playing hooky when he should be discussing law of inheritance codes is… sitting in his belly in a not-strictly-unpleasant way. Far from it, in fact.

Felix throws his hands up. “Do what you want, boar,” he grouses. “I clearly can’t stop you.”

It is like a dam has broken, such is the relief that flows into Dimitri’s stomach. It’s-- shocking. “I could say the same thing to you,” he laughs, and he smiles-- with teeth. Felix stares at him. Ah-- he hides his tusks, but not his good mood.

“Please, pretend I am not even here,” Dimitri chirps, just as Felix turns around. He descends the stairs again, a stomp to his steps which does seem mostly for show.

Felix _tsks_ at him over his shoulder. “As if I ever could,” he gripes, and Dimitri is too taken with the marketplace to pay the words any mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for readin! i'm never sure if my writing style is like... too clunky and bumpy and not fun tbh sdjkfhdskljf but i had fun writing this thanks felix for being dreadfully stingy with your heart of gold
> 
> it's pre-ts so i feel like it would be true to felix to have him Never call dimitri by name, even accidentally, but also like.............. what greater romance is there than for felix to validate dimitri's identity. am considering this


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